A story of revisits and returns. The Criterion Channel's current Myrna Loy Collection provides us with an ideal opportunty to discuss the the Old Hollywood star. This marks her as the first performer to have three episodes in the Almost There series. So it's time to delve into two of my favorite subjects: The Thin Man franchise and the chaotic Best Actress category of 1934. For the latter, you can check out the analysis of Bette Davis' historical snub in Of Human Bondage. For the former, I once reviewed the first Thin Man movie, describing its star power and alluding to the sequels' decreasing merits, all eminently entertaining despite their drop in quality.
After reading those pieces for some added context, come back to explore the specificities of Myrna Loy's rightfully legendary turn as Nora Charles…
If you're unfamiliar, The Thin Man is an adaptation of Dashiell Hammett's homonymous novel about two alcoholics enjoying the liberties of Post-Prohibition America while lounging around glamorously. Also, between hangovers and more drinking, they sometimes solve murder mysteries. Indeed, crime-fighting while in varying states of intoxication seemed to be Nick Charles' primary occupation before he met Nora. He used to be a private detective and is now happy to live a life of leisure alongside the wealthy Nob Hill heiress and their adorable pup, Asta. Still, trouble keeps finding the Pinkerton detective turned lounge lizard.
It's not like Nora minds it. Modeled after Lillian Hellman's witty self, she's a sport, a game partner for loving banter and investigations alike. The boozy beauty was the perfect fit for Myrna Loy, who, after a bizarre early start as a miscast exotic type and sensual heavies, found the part of a lifetime. Through Nora, she came to embody the ideal wife persona, making use of her best qualities as a screen presence. We'll get to those soon enough, but it's important to note that Loy's wife characters and Nora, in particular, aren't defined by antiquates subservience to their spouse. Instead, she's fun and sophisticated, a refined companion with a special gift for sly repartee.
As typified by Loy's Nora Charles, the perfect wife doesn't nag or embody the negative stereotypes one might associate with marriage in American film, especially comedies. Rather than a battle of the sexes, the Charles' dynamic is that of two partners in crime, charming people eager to spend the rest of their lives having fun together. There's no shadow of insecurity or jealousy in their interactions, just unwavering confidence, and trust in one another. More importantly, their devotion feels rock solid, their love undeniable but never dull. Portraying untroubled happiness can often lead to tedium, but not with Nick and Nora. They never bore each other, nor us, the viewer.
Chemistry, as hard as it is to define, is the key to their success, though it's not the only factor. Sure, William Powell and Myrna Loy could be entertaining just by sharing the screen and doing nothing at all. However, to reduce Nick and Nora Charles to a charm offensive with no depth or variation would be a mistake. It'd be erroneous, too. Talking specifically of Loy's creation, it's a miracle of precise underplaying that verges on what some have described as minimalist comedy. Compared to some of her MGM colleagues, she's downright naturalistic. Combine that with an ability to deliver precise dialogue like flippant improvisation, and you have a recipe for a flawless star turn.
The Charles' first scenes are akin to a dance of quippy crosstalk that economically introduces the characters, how they behave as a unit and individuals, and how they negotiate conversation and exist within the swanky spaces of upper-crust New York. Nora enters the scene like a graceful hurricane, dragged across the hall by her overexcited terrier, cutting a picture of paradoxical elegance. The pull of physical comedy highlights the woman's unflappable nature, showing how even in dishevelment, she's a fashion illustration come to life. It's all about being in control while performing lack of control.
Every gesture is a measured choice, every annoyed look a brushstroke in a painting of virtuoso funny business. Even the actress' trademark nose crunch is deftly deployed when words aren't enough to transmit the right mix of insincere irritation and endearment. That's true when downing dueling Martinis and when recovering from the alcohol's nasty punch. But of course, The Thin Man is a whodunnit, and it's essential to denote how Loy maneuvers through that aspect of the plot. Primarily, she's a bottomless well of enthusiasm, encouraging Nick to take on the case and becoming ever more invested as the bodies pile up.
As in scenes where her husband's silly antics visibly amuses Nora, Loy plays the murder mystery solving like a great lark that enthralls her to no end. At times, it almost seems that Nick's deductive prowess turns her on, injecting sexual tension into the featherlight plot. These details are important to sustain the picture's odd tone. The Thin Man has mortal stakes baked into its story, but the characters move through the narrative with deadpan disaffection. It's easy to imagine the balance being overturned, humor souring into meanness, or the characters losing their humanity. Take Loy's performance out of the equation, and it all falls apart.
Just because her work looks easy doesn't mean it is. Just because it appears effortless doesn't mean Loy wasn't acting her ass off. That's never more apparent than when the script puts Nora in livewire situations where it'd be insane not to worry about her or Nick's safety. Without weighting on the tonal scales too much, the actress suggests the real emotion of peril while still keeping things light and fun, weaponizing her gift for sarcastic asides and subtle eye rolls within a new context. Never forget that Myrna Loy was a master at crafting meaningful characterizations out of reactions, finding specificity in the sharing of scenes and the tensions that emerge from contrasting tenors.
If you ever doubt it, just re-watch The Thin Man's dinner party climax. How someone can watch that and not fall in love with Myrna Loy is beyond me.
By 1934, the Academy was still pretty insular as far as its voting body was concerned. Moreover, the acting categories – only two at the time – still topped off at three nominees, leading to many significant snubs every year. That being said, nothing could have prepared AMPAS for the bad press that came when they announced the nominees for the 7th Academy Awards. You see, the Best Actress nominees were Claudette Cobert in It Happened One Night, grace Moore in One Night of Love, and Norma Shearer in The Barretts of Wimpole Street. Bette Davis' absence from the lineup caused massive controversy, leading to the expansion of the field for the following year's competition, as well as a momentary allowance of write-in votes.
Davis didn't get enough support to win against Colbert, but she placed higher than Moore in the final vote. Indeed, if there had been five nominees, the results indicate that both Davis and Myrna Loy would have been among the honored actresses, the latter placing fifth. One should remember that though AMPAS showed no love for Of Human Bondage, they adored The Thin Man. That box office hit scored nods for Picture, Director, Actor, and Screenplay. So it would only seem logical that Loy was also among its honorees. Unfortunately, luck wasn't on her side, and the star's brand of effortless technique didn't help later on either. Myrna Loy was never nominated for an Academy Award. The closest she came to it was an Honorary Oscar, bestowed in 1991.
The Thin Man and many other Myrna Loy movies are available on the Criterion Channel. You can also find this particular still popular classic on most platforms, available for rent or purchase.